Addicted
by emeraldorchids
Summary: Miranda finds an unexpected method for keeping up with her work, but when her new second-assistant Andrea catches on, will she blow her cover? (Read warning in Ch 1). IN PROGRESS.
1. Chapter 1

**Note** : This is the first chapter of a longer work, one that might take me months to finish. (You all know I'm true to my word and I do finish!) I've been sitting on it for a while, and I think I just need to commit to it and get the first chapter or so out there, and that will help me along. I wanted to try writing something that was a little different from what I normally write, and after doing a lot of research on a particular topic for a work project, I got this idea.

 **Warning** : This is a story about addiction. Yes, there's a loose theme of Andrea being "addicted" to Miranda, but the focus, at least in the first half of the story, is on drugs. Cocaine, to be specific. It's not always going to be glamorous, so if you can't or don't want to read that, take a pass. Also, there is some reference to M/F sex in this chapter, and it might appear throughout, but I promise not to go into details. ;) Ok, so, mature themes, graphic content, drugs, maybe alcohol, maybe some violence in later chapters. Hope that covers it.

 **P.S.** I'll also be cross-posting on AO3. Not sure what your preferences are...I tend to prefer AO3 when there's a complete story (so I can download), but FF is sometimes easier for each chapter. Just a heads-up. :)

* * *

 **= = ADDICTED = =**

Miranda set her glasses on the nightstand and softly rubbed the bridge of her nose. There was so much left to be done for the annual Elias Clarke shareholders' meeting at the end of the month, but as always, she knew she would be more productive after a few hours' sleep.

She closed her computer. As she was setting it on the floor, she heard the telltale sounds of her husband shuffling up the back staircase. He slipped inside the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

"Stephen, did anyone ever tell you that you actually make _more_ noise when you walk up the stairs with your shoes off?" Miranda asked.

"Yes, honey. You. Practically every day," he said as he went to set his shoes down inside the closet. When he returned, Miranda was still sitting up, this time going through something on her phone. "Do you have any plans tonight?" he asked quietly.

She scrunched her nose and looked up, her eyes widening as she saw the small bag of white powder he was holding up. "What? Oh Stephen, come on," she said, rolling her eyes. "Where did you even get that?"

He stalked towards the bed and crawled on top of the duvet, straddling the woman's legs and effectively pinning her to the mattress. "One of the guys at work. Come on, honey. Just a little?"

"Stephen Tomlinson, I regret ever telling you anything about my past!" she said, squirming away from him as he tried to kiss her.

"Tell me, is the sex better when you're high?" he whispered as he nuzzled her neck, licking that space behind her ear that drove her wild.

An uncontrollable sound escaped her lips and she stopped fighting him, looking up and cupping his cheek. "You know I don't need any help," she whispered, kissing him softly. With her other hand, she deftly unbuckled his belt as he pulled the duvet and sheets out of the way. The drugs were long forgotten. Miranda was right; she didn't need them.

Later that week, Stephen again reminded her about the little bag of powder that he was keeping in the drawer. She refused to discuss it again and asked him to not discuss illegal substances when her daughters were home.

So, he waited until Friday night, after they had dinner and dropped the girls off with their father for a three-day weekend.

"Please, honey, just one line," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. "You need a break. You've been working so hard these past few weeks."

"Yes, and there's more to be done. I can't relax until after the meeting this week," she said, kissing him softly and pushing away.

"But Mira, think of how productive and focused this will make you. You'll be able to do twice the work in half the time!" he said as she walked upstairs.

Miranda rolled her eyes. "Oh please. You sound like an informercial!" she said, chuckling as she entered her study to do some more work.

That night, she crawled into bed well past midnight, both physically and mentally exhausted. Her husband was fast asleep, and within minutes, so was she.

The following evening, Miranda and Stephen went out for a quick dinner.

"I shouldn't have had that second glass of wine," she said, blinking her eyes. "It made me sleepy and I haven't finished the draft of our annual report yet."

Stephen walked up behind her and gently began to knead her shoulders. "Honey, you're wearing yourself out. I hate to see you like this," he said.

She closed her eyes and let her head drop forward as he worked the kinks out of her neck. "That feels so good," she sighed.

"I know what else will feel good," he replied, whispering directly in her ear and blowing on that sensitive spot behind her ear.

"Ohh-hh-hoo," she exhaled softly, turning around and wrapping her arms around his waist. "Okay," she said, "but just this once. And," she added, "no getting upset if you have to do all the work. I really am exhausted."

He smiled and kissed her, then reached down and picked her up, her ankles quickly locking behind his back as she tightened her arms around his neck. "You don't have to lift a finger, my dear," he said as he carried her up the stairs to their bedroom.

Setting her carefully on the bed, he asked if she wanted to take a bath first, but she shook her head and reached for the side zipper on her dress. Stephen gently undressed her and after hanging her dress on the back of the closet door, he brought her silk robe over and helped her into it.

She sighed and closed her eyes, telling him she was just going to rest for a minute. He quickly stripped down to his boxers and grabbed the small packet of white powder from his drawer.

Once he had two lines of the fine white powder prepared on one of Miranda's handheld mirrors from the bathroom, he gently woke his wife and brought the mirror over, taking a seat at the edge of the bed.

He looked over to her as if for approval, and after she nodded, he inhaled one line of the powdery substance. Passing it over, he held the mirror out and she inhaled the remaining substance.

Taking a deep breath, she subconsciously dabbed at her nose. "What now?" she asked, looking over at Stephen with a bored expression.

"Just wait," he said, setting the mirror back on the bathroom counter and returning to the bed. He coaxed Miranda to lay down and crawled next to her, slipping his hand inside her loosely-tied robe as he kissed her deeply.

Suddenly, she pushed away and inhaled sharply, her eyes open wide.

"There you go," he whispered, nuzzling her neck while she felt the effects of the drug.

"My god…this is…incredible," she whispered as his lips trailed across her chest and down her body.

He snickered against her inner thigh. "Told you so," he said.

"Unngh… _fuck_! Yes!" she cried.

Hearing those obscenities from the lips of his normally-reserved wife, Stephen vowed to get more of this wonderful drug for his incredible wife.

* * *

Over the next few months, they indulged themselves on exactly two other occasions, both when the girls were away with their father. But Miranda noticed that the effects of the drug lasted much longer for her than for Stephen, so while he was ready to fall asleep, she felt as though she had breathed a second wind.

On Wednesday, the book wasn't ready until 10:30 PM, and by the time it was delivered to her house, she could hardly keep her eyes open. Stephen was out of town and the girls were in bed. She knew that she should be, too, but instead, she made herself a cup of coffee and drudged up the stairs to her study.

On her desk, she saw an envelope with her name on it in her husband's handwriting. Inside, was a key and a note: _For the next time I can steal you away… S_

She held the key in her hand, gently weighing it between her fingers as she tried to imagine what it belonged to. She kept it in her hand as she turned her attention to the book, sifting through the pages and applying post-its and red marks until her eyes began to close.

As she was about to head back down to the kitchen for another cup of coffee, she realized what the key was for: the box in the closet where Stephen kept his watches and cufflinks. Out of curiosity, she found and opened the box, surprised to see three bags of the white powder.

Remembering the alertness and energy she felt after using with Stephen, she carefully opened one of the bags and poured out a tiny, almost minuscule amount into the palm of her hand. She quickly inhaled and licked her palm to remove any traces before sealing the bag and locking it back in its place in the closet.

By the time she returned to the study with her fresh cup of coffee, she was feeling energized. She made quick work of the edits to the book, and even finished responding to the emails in her inbox. Looking at the clock, it was only 2:00 AM—except that it felt like she did a day's worth of work in the past hour.

She turned out the light and tucked the key away safely inside her desk drawer.

* * *

This little secret of hers became a semi-regular thing. Between the weekends when the girls were away and the nights she was up late working on the book, Miranda felt ahead of the game for the first time in her life.

The feeling was short-lived. On Monday morning, she hired a dreadful-looking creature as her new second assistant, and the rest of the week went downhill from there.

"Miranda, I have Stephen," Emily called out, waiting until she heard Miranda pick up the phone before she ended the call.

"Who's Stephen?" Andrea asked, fumbling for a pen to write it down.

"Stephen is Miranda's husband, Stephen Tomlinson," Emily said, walking up and over to the second assistant's desk. "If you ask me, he's a disgusting scumbag who can't keep his hands to himself, but for some ungodly reason, she puts up with him," Emily said.

"Got it," Andrea said as she made a note on her post-it. "Disgusting scumbag equals husband."

Emily quickly snatched the note and tore it into tiny pieces. "Are you out of your mind? You do not comment on Miranda's personal life. You are to have absolutely _no_ dealings with Stephen, do you understand? If you do happen to see him, you are to look the other way, keep your eyes down, and never, _ever_ interrupt."

"My god, Emily, what on earth are you prattling on about now?" Miranda asked as she breezed out of her office and past her assistants. "I'm leaving for lunch," she added, marching to the elevators.

"But Miranda, you have a meet—"

Emily slapped her hand over the second assistant's mouth. "Yes, Miranda," she called, holding her hand firmly against the other woman's lips until she heard the elevator doors close.

Andrea coughed and looked up in confusion at the redhead. "Jesus, Em. What was that for?"

"Miranda is never wrong. If she's going to lunch an hour early, it's _your mistake_. Do you hear me? _You_ must have entered her schedule incorrectly. You are _so sorry_ for the error, and it _will not_ happen again. Do you follow?" she said.

Andrea swallowed and nodded.

"And what is this sticky mess I have on my hand?" Emily said, walking towards the sink to wash her hands.

"Oh, that's probably just Carmex. You see, my lips get really dry in the winter and sometimes—"

"Andrea! Enough!"

"Sorry," she said with a shrug.

After drying her hands, Emily pulled a small blue tin out of her desk drawer and set it Andrea's desk.

"Rosebud Salve?" she asked, picking up the tin and opening it. "Oh, this smells good."

"If you must treat your lips at work, use _that_. Keep your drugstore-sticky-lip-wax at home," Emily said.

"Now, I'm off to lunch. When I return, well, you probably won't have time to get anything. You are not to let the phone go unanswered," she said, grabbing her purse and heading for the elevators.

"Yes, Emily," Andrea whispered, rolling her eyes as Emily walked away.

.

.

.

...to be continued.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next few months, the once clumsy and ignorant young woman blossomed into her role. Emily was shocked that Miranda had put up with her after some of her incompetence, but perhaps more importantly, Emily was shocked to find she could actually trust Andrea with Miranda's schedule and the book.

On several occasions, though, Emily had to remind Andrea of the golden rule: _You do not ask Miranda anything_. While Emily viewed her ability to remain detached as a strength, Andrea often struggled with her emotions around their mercurial boss. The editor had the effect of being hated and loved at the same time. In those fleeting moments when the illustrious editor revealed a chink in her armor, where Emily had trained herself to look away and ignore it, Andrea's empathy nearly cost her her job.

On the day of the annual benefit gala, Miranda shocked both assistants by demanding Andrea join at the last minute. While Miranda went home to get ready, Nigel hurried to find Andrea something to wear, and Emily helped her to study all the names of the guests who would be in attendance.

At the townhouse, Miranda was dressed and ready to go, sitting on the small couch in her bedroom. She called over to her ex-husband's house to tell her daughters to have a good night, and then once again dialed her current husband's cell phone, only to be taken to voicemail.

She looked at the time—she was due to arrive in fifteen minutes, and it would take at least twenty-five with current traffic. At this point, she would have to arrive without Stephen because she couldn't be much later for her own event.

A small yawn escaped her lips as she stood, and for a split second she thought about taking the edge off before she showed up. Deciding against it, she grabbed her things and stepped into the waiting car out front.

Not long after she arrived, she saw Jacqueline Follet on the other side of the ballroom and it made the hair on her neck stand on end. As she was about to excuse herself to the bathroom, she ran into Stephen, drunkenly insulting everyone in his path.

"Stephen, darling," she said, linking her arm in his and pulling him aside. "Honey, I was wondering where you were."

"Sorry, we had this work thing," he slurred.

"Ah, a 'work thing.' I see," she said. "You didn't by chance bring that work thing with you, did you?"

"Huh?" he asked.

Miranda gently dabbed at the bottom of her nose. "You know."

"Oh! Yeah, I do. Why?" he said, pulling her closer to him. "You want a hit now?"

She could feel him pushed up against her. "Yes, please," she said, kissing him softly. "Kiss me, make it look like we're stepping aside to be alone," she whispered as she tugged him towards the bathrooms.

Andrea grimaced as she watched Miranda sneak away with Stephen. If he was as much of a scumbag as Emily said, she couldn't figure out why Miranda was even with him.

She waited all night for her boss to return, but when it looked like she wasn't coming back, Nigel told both her and Emily that they could leave for the night. Emily was thrilled to leave a little early, but Andrea hung around because she was honestly worried about the editor. Stephen had been clearly drunk when he walked into the party, and she wasn't sure where he had taken Miranda. Andrea even sent a text message to Roy to see if they had left the event entirely, but he hadn't seen the editor and was still parked out front.

After most of the guests had left for the evening and the lights were turned up, Andrea set out in search of the editor. She wouldn't be doing her job if she didn't know where Miranda was at all times—or so she told herself. The benefit tonight was at the Natural History Museum, so it wasn't like there were rooms upstairs that they could have disappeared to. In fact, most of the museum's corridors were blocked off with security guards actively patrolling the collection.

She pulled up some notes on her phone that Emily had sent her, and one of them was about a semi-private bathroom adjacent to the main corridors that Miranda preferred using. Andrea quickly found the room hidden behind a curtain, as it had not been made accessible to the guests this evening. After a deep breath, she knocked sharply on the door. "Miranda?"

Suddenly, the door swung open and the editor was in her face. "What on earth do you want?!" she shouted. The assistant couldn't help but notice that her hair was mussed and her pupils were heavily dilated.

"A-are you—are you okay?" Andrea asked, gasping at the telltale trace of powder beneath her nose.

Miranda simply stared at her, eyes glazed over and cheeks flushed. The young woman gestured towards her nose, and the editor's eyes widened in horror as she reached up to brush the powder away.

"Miranda, I—"

The editor reached out and grabbed the young woman's wrist. "Andrea, you are finished for the evening. Go home," she said, tightening her grip.

Andrea softly bit her lip and nodded, closing her eyes to hide the tears beginning to form.

Miranda tugged her back, her lips inches from the young woman's ear. "Not a word of what you've seen, Andrea. Do you understand? If you value your career, you will keep your mouth shut," she hissed.

Andrea nodded frantically, and once Miranda released her wrist, she scurried away.

.. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . ..

The next morning, Miranda sent a text message to Emily to cancel her morning appointments. She didn't explain why, and Emily knew better than to ask. But Andrea was fairly certain why the editor was taking the morning off, and with her newly free morning, she decided to do some research on the editor's drug of choice.

Miranda arrived just after lunch, and wreaked havoc on the team. The layouts were wrong. The samples were hideous. The ideas, too dull. By the time she left just after six o'clock, everyone was exhausted—and in need of a drink. Emily was the first to leave, then Serena, Jocelyn, Paul, and Nigel, until the only ones left were the production team and Andrea, who was dutifully waiting for the book.

Andrea had tried to block out the image of her boss from the previous night, but she was terribly unsuccessful. Instead, all she could see were the editor's wild eyes and mussed hair. If she was being honest with herself, she'd give anything to see that look again—especially if she were the object of the woman's attention and drugs hadn't been involved.

It was nearly midnight when the book was finally ready. Andrea quietly entered the townhouse, and to her surprise, Miranda and Stephen were standing at the base of the staircase, engaged in a heated argument. Stephen was wearing a white t-shirt and boxers, and Miranda was wearing a Tahari silk robe. His hand was firmly grasped around the woman's bicep, and from what Andrea could see, he seemed to be trying to pull her upstairs against her will.

Andrea held her breath while she quickly went through her options: she could turn around and not deliver the book or she could deliver it and ignore whatever was happening. Deciding on the latter, she looked down at the floor as she hurried to the table. As she turned to leave, she heard Stephen mutter, "Fuck you, you frigid bitch," before noisily making his way upstairs.

Miranda gasped, and Andrea did, too. When no one spoke, Andrea turned and looked up, meeting both of their eyes.

"What the fuck is she doing here, anyway?" Stephen said, twisting Miranda's arm and causing her to grimace in pain.

"Stephen, you know my assistant delivers the book every night," she said. "It's not her fault you chose to assault me right here in the foyer."

"Oh, fuck you!" Stephen shouted, releasing Miranda's arm and pushing her across the foyer into the closet. He turned and marched up the stairs.

Miranda's eyes were closed as she leaned against the wall and clutched her arm where his hand had been.

Andrea knew this would be the perfect opportunity to make her escape, but she couldn't leave Miranda after that. She couldn't help but ask, "Are you okay?"

Miranda's eyes shot open. "Am I okay? AM I OKAY?" she shouted. "Of course I am fucking okay," she hissed. "What else would I be? And where do you, the lowliest of my staff, come off interrupting my personal life, a personal discussion between me and my husband? Go home," she said.

Andrea took a step back, but couldn't pry her eyes from the wild rage on the editor's face.

"Was I not clear?" she hissed, stepping closer to the young woman. "Get. Out."

"Miranda, please don't do this to yourself," Andrea said quickly, taking a few steps backwards to the door.

The editor grabbed the young woman's arm and then quickly released it, as if she just realized how closely her movements mirrored Stephen's. "Don't you dare speak to me like that again, you insolent little girl!" she said.

Andrea quickly turned and ran out of the townhouse, not even bothering to shut the door behind her.

.. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . ..

The next morning, Andrea arrived at the office early, as usual, but she was nervous of what Miranda would say to her that day—or if she even had a job after the previous night.

Miranda walked in as she did everyday—on her phone and without looking at either assistant. She tossed her coat and bag on Andrea's desk and walked into her office, shutting the door. Andrea quickly hung the items in the closet, and as she was making her way back to her desk, Miranda opened her office door.

Andrea looked up and locked eyes with the editor. "Good morning, Miranda," she said quietly before taking a seat at her desk.

Miranda turned and walked back to her desk without saying a word.

The rest of the morning was quiet, and just before lunch, Miranda took a call on her cell phone, after which she quickly called Andrea into her office.

"Andrea, you need to run to the townhouse—there's a folder I left on my desk and a small black jewelry satchel in the desk drawer," she said. "I needed this five minutes ago. If you're not back in twenty minutes, you may as well not even bother to return."

Andrea's eyes widened. The townhouse was a ten minute drive in mid-day traffic. As much as she wanted to quit and just walk away from everything, she decided she wouldn't make it that easy for Miranda. She quickly made her way out front and had Roy take her to the townhouse as quickly as possible. On the way, she called Cara, who she knew was cleaning the upstairs bedrooms that day, and asked her to retrieve the items and meet her at the corner, to save her time.

The young assistant's plan worked perfectly, and nineteen minutes after leaving, she was stepping off the elevator and walking straight into Miranda's office. "Here are your things," she said as she held the folder and jewelry bag up, grinning with pride.

"What?! Come here," Miranda said as she jumped up and grabbed her by the elbow, tugging her into the private bathroom and locking the door. She took the bag from Andrea and examined its contents before she turned her attention to the young woman. "How did you get this so fast? Did anyone see you?"

"What? No, um Cara met me halfway. What's going on?" Andrea asked.

"You involved my nanny!?" Miranda asked. "Jesus. Where the police there?"

"Huh? No. I mean, I actually don't know."

Miranda sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

Just then, Emily knocked on the bathroom door. "Miranda, Detective Stewart from the NYPD requests to speak with you immediately," she said.

"Put him on hold. I will take the call as soon as I'm finished," she said through the door. She waited for Emily's footsteps then turned to Andrea. "What did you say to Cara?"

"Nothing!" Andrea said. "I just told her you needed that folder and jewelry bag. Honestly. What's going on? Why are the police at your house? Are the girls okay?"

"They are fine. The police are looking for this," she said, holding up the jewelry pouch. "And here I thought the innocent thing was just an act of yours," she muttered.

"Wait, that's not jewelry? Miranda, you sent me to your house to retrieve your drugs when you knew the police were on their way?" she asked.

"Ah, your brain still functions," Miranda said, rolling her eyes. "You will remember that you are bound by your confidentiality agreement, which extends to suspected illegal activity, Andrea. Keep your mouth shut and go back to your desk like a good little assistant," she said, opening the door for the woman to leave.

Andrea returned to her desk. What had she gotten herself into?

TBC...


End file.
